


Le Spectre

by being_alive



Series: Mini-Fics [8]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo e Giulietta - Ama e Cambia il Mondo, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic, Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: A Spectral Sexual Encounter, F/M, Ghost Sex, POV Second Person, but like...in an aesthetic way, or - Freeform, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 15:59:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19135363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/being_alive/pseuds/being_alive
Summary: At first, all you can see are your normal personal effects and the moonlight streaming in through your windows, but then your gaze catches on the flicker of dark hair and red silk."Tybalt?" You all but whisper, your heart beating quick in your chest.





	Le Spectre

**Author's Note:**

> I would say I'm sorry for this, but really, I'm not.

Cold hands trail up the backs of your thighs and you awake with a start, quickly rolling from your stomach and onto your back. You prop yourself up on your elbows and look warily around your bedroom.

At first, all you can see are your normal personal effects and the moonlight streaming in through your windows, but then your gaze catches on the flicker of dark hair and red silk.

"Tybalt?" You all but whisper, your heart beating quick in your chest. As soon as the name leaves your lips, the flicker becomes clearer, the outline of shoulders, legs, and jaw becoming clearer to you.

 _Yes_ , he says, though, curiously, you feel the word more than you actually hear it. A smile flickers across his face, the first of his facial features you're able to see clearly, but even so, you're scarcely able to believe your eyes. 

"You're dead," you reply, still staring at him, or what little of him you can see, shock flooding through you because there's no way that this can possibly be happening, and you tell him as such.

 _I am dead but this **is** real_, he assures you. You blink and then he's closer to your bed, closer to you. What feels like one of his hands comes to rest on your thigh.

 _Do you doubt me?_ he asks, the softness of his voice a harsh contrast with the way fingers you can't see press tightly into the skin of your thigh.

"No," you reply after a moment, because you're not entirely unconvinced that this isn't a dream.

If this is a dream, you decide, then so be it, because Tybalt is dead, but yet, Tybalt is here, and you've missed him terribly.

 _Do you still want me?_ he asks next, his grip on your thigh lessening ever so slightly.

"Yes," you reply with no hesitation this time, because you doubt that you'll ever stop wanting him, stop loving him, stop longing to be by his side. This is how it's been ever since you and he were little more than children, the Lady's fierce nephew and the cousin of a cousin of a cousin of a cousin of the Lord, and this, you think, is how it always will be.

 _Good_ , he responds, simply. His hand leaves your thigh but then suddenly, his thighs are spreading yours apart so that he can fit between them. You pull the skirt of your nightgown up yourself but feel his fingers, colder now than they ever were in life, pull your underthings aside so that he can touch you. 

And touch you he does, his fingers dancing over and around the heat between your thighs, touching everywhere that only he knows that you like. You blink, a shuddering moan pulling itself from your throat, and you can see him a bit more clearly than before, the line of his nose and the lines of his eyebrows, and the faint slope of cheekbones.

"Tybalt," you say, and you can see that flicker of a smile once more even as his hands leave you. You're about to complain, but then you can hear the faint rustle of his clothes.

His entrance into you is a sudden one, but you gasp nonetheless, your eyelids fluttering shut at the feeling. He begins to move within you, and your gasp gives way to a moan.

You blindly reach up and run your hands up his silk-clad chest, marveling at the fact that you can feel him again. One of your palms passes through something warm, wet, and sticky, but you don't bother to open your eyes to see what it is, because you remember where Romeo's knife was thrust into his skin, and you have no doubt that your hand just passed over the wound. 

"Tybalt," you moan, needing more, your fingers moving up and grasping at his shoulders.

 _I've got you_ , he replies, and as it turns out, he truly does, even now, because it's not long before you're falling apart around him, moaning loud enough to wake the dead.

He continues thrusting into you for a few moments more, but as his hips still against yours, you finally dare to open your eyes. You can see him more clearly now that you have yet tonight, and you nearly fool yourself into thinking he's still alive as you stare into his dark eyes and say without even really meaning to, "Stay with me."

 _I wish that I could_ , Tybalt replies as he pulls out and away from you.

"Please," you say, reaching for him, but your fingers meet only air. You could touch him mere moments ago, so you despair that now you're unable to for whatever reason.

 _I'll try to come back soon_ , Tybalt says in response.

"Please," you say, hating how desperate you sound. You can hear a chuckle and then feel the faintest brush of lips against your own.

 _Sleep now_ , he tells you, and before long, you do.

When you wake again, sunlight is streaming in through your windows and you find yourself completely and utterly alone, skirt still hiked up around your hips and blood dried rusted brown on your palm.


End file.
